


Morning Night

by silkbuggy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, I'm Bad At Titles, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Memories, Morning After, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkbuggy/pseuds/silkbuggy
Summary: He presses a finger to Aone’s forehead, easying the worry lines showing up there from Futakuchi’s moving. He stops himself from counting Aone’s eyelashes again, or he’ll never get up. Aone’s hand is heavy on his waist. He moves it carefully, freeing himself from the grip, and finally steps out of bed.The question hangs over him, as unsaid as it was when he fell asleep the night before, and every other night since the first time this happened.What is this?
Relationships: Aone Takanobu/Futakuchi Kenji
Comments: 17
Kudos: 128
Collections: AoFuta Week 2020





	Morning Night

**Author's Note:**

> For #aofutaweek2020 second day! Prompt: "We're not just friends and you fucking know it".

Aone is always quiet. His silence never really bothered Futakuchi, though. Aone is a man of actions rather than words, and that’s okay. He’s the type of person who will hug you when you need instead of trying to comfort you with endless sentences. He’s quiet even when the world is pouring all around them, so much so that Futakuchi could curl up on the floor and never get back up if it wasn’t for his constant presence, the warmth of his hands on Futakuchi’s back, his scent taking over. 

But sometimes, just sometimes, Futakuchi wishes Aone would be more vocal. 

The morning bathes them in rays of golden light coming in from the open drapes. Futakuchi turns around, blinking out of his stupor. He’s been awake for a few moments, basking in the time he still has before the alarm rings and brings reality crashing down on him. His eyes fall on Aone’s figure, barely covered under the blankets. His chest rises and falls evenly, almost hypnotizing. Futakuchi has to force himself to look away. 

It’s not uncommon for them to wake up like this. It’s been happening for years, a setting so predictable that by now it’s probably routine. Aone will message him a day before, asking if he’s free, if he has time. 

_Do you want to go out for dinner?_ or _How about some extra volleyball practice?_ Simple questions, easy to oversee if you’re not really looking for it, but Futakuchi knows. 

At this point, it’s almost a formality. There’s no need for them to go out before. No need for mindless conversation that will only lead up to the same things. There’s no need for confirmation because Futakuchi always says yes. 

In the off chance that he says yes for dinner as well, he pretends the way Aone’s cheeks flush doesn’t affect him, and that how big Aone’s smiles are as he downs another shot of sake has nothing to do with the way his stomach is flooded by butterflies. 

They wake up in the same way, every time. Futakuchi stirs from sleep with Aone’s arms around him, his bare skin hot and sweaty on the condensed small bedrooms of their apartments. Futakuchi stares at Aone, eyes tracing over his every feature, trying to encapsulate it in his mind forever - or at least till the next time they meet. 

He presses a finger to Aone’s forehead, easying the worry lines showing up there from Futakuchi’s moving. He stops himself from counting Aone’s eyelashes again, or he’ll never get up. Aone’s hand is heavy on his waist. He moves it carefully, freeing himself from the grip, and finally steps out of bed. 

The question hangs over him, as unsaid as it was when he fell asleep the night before, and every other night since the first time this happened. 

_What is this?_

He stands at the foot of the bed, wondering if he should leave or not. They never talked about it. At times, he’ll stay for breakfast, shower, and get ready for work there. At times, he leaves without even tying his tie back on. 

Aone wakes up while Futakuchi is getting dressed. He moves around on the bed, arms stretching out to the side, where Futakuchi had been. His hand sprawls over the sheets, ruffling them and filling the room with sound. Futakuchi clears his throat, then, as he buckles his belt. 

“Good morning,” he says. His voice is rough and used, throat spamming in the slightest as he speaks, dry and dull. His cheeks flush, memories of the night before bringing clarity as to _why_ it’s hurting. 

“Morning,” Aone rubs the sleep off his eyes, sitting up on the bed. The blanket pools over his thighs, making way for bruises and scratches to be seen, purpling over pale skin. 

Futakuchi averts his eyes to the open window. “I was just leaving,” he says, feeling weirdly watched, “go back to sleep. You don’t have work today, right?”

Aone blinks at him, looking almost disoriented. He stretches his arms above his head. “Right.” 

Futakuchi nods, slinging his bag over his shoulders. If he hurries, he can catch the six-thirty train and make it to home and then work with minimal delay. He grips at the strap, “Yeah.” Gesturing to the general direction of the apartment, he tries to smile. “Gonna close the door after me?”

Aone rubs at his eyes again but nods nonetheless. He stands, wrapping the blanket over himself. _Cute_. Futakuchi leads the way, stepping into his shoes. 

“Thank you for last night,” he says, not glancing back once Aone has the door open. 

“You too,” Aone says. Futakuchi doesn’t have to look to know he’s staring at the floor in the shy of a bow. 

He chuckles with no real humor. “See you, Aone.” 

“Futakuchi,” Aone calls. His hand is extended towards the barely lit hallway Futakuchi is in. 

Futakuchi takes a deep breath, eyes meeting Aone’s. “Yes?”

Aone doesn’t say anything. Futakuchi walks out after a moment of them just staring. 

He’s at the end of the hallway, calling the elevator when his phone dings. He wonders if he forgot something behind, not wanting to have to go back. His chest feels heavy and he knows the day is going to be long and insufferable. It almost makes him laugh. 

**Aone 6:17 am**

Thank you for being my friend. 

Futakuchi tsks, stepping into the elevator. The doors close on him and he slips to the floor, head spinning. 

Friends. 

The word sits uncomfortably on Futakuchi’s chest. They’ve been “friends” for so long he doesn’t know what to do anymore. They went to high school together, played, and still play in the same club. Aone complains about work to him and hears him complaining about clients. All throughout the years, they’ve been friends. They’ve been more, too, but always friends first. 

Aone has told him Futakuchi’s the only real friend he’s ever had. 

But the word still feels wrong, like lead on his tongue, weighing him down and making it impossible for him to get out of the elevator, to walk out of the building and go back to real life. He has work in no more than one hour, but he can’t move, not even when the elevator is open and he can see the front door to the building and the people walking by it, waking up little by little alongside the city. 

Friends. 

He laughs, thoughts filling his mind. Thoughts of Aone on his bed, on top of him. His hand on Futakuchi’s waist, on his back, all over him. His mouth tasting him, making him cry out. The two of them walking together side to side. Late night conversations that turn into early morning crisis. Improvised movie nights when Futakuchi is too sad to do anything for himself. Aone crying on his shoulder. Aone cutting his hair. 

His trembling fingers push the button back up before he can stop himself. 

Aone and him sitting on the rooftop on the last day of high school. He sent Aone a thousand messages about trying out for VC Date. Aone high fiving him after they won the first match. Futakuchi on his knees in the dressing room. Aone drunk and spinning on the street. The two of them going to the pet shop together to buy Aone’s new turtle. Futakuchi naming the turtle.

The elevator door opens and he walks out in a daze. Without realizing, he’s rushing to the front door, banging his fists on it loudly enough to wake up the entire building.

Aone opens it with a confused look. “Futakuchi?” He’s wearing boxer briefs and a shirt now, standing on the door. 

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” Futakuchi is pushing him inside the apartment, not even taking off his shoes first. He slams the door behind him with more strength than necessary.

Aone steps back easily. “Futakuchi-”

“Is that all we are to you?” Futakuchi can’t stop the flood of words spilling from him, no matter how much he wants to. “Is that all I am? A friend?”

He’s almost on top of Aone, pushing him against the wall, all up in his personal space. Aone has furrowed brows, hands raised in redemption. 

“No.” He says, arms falling to his sides. “No, you’re not.” 

Futakuchi stops. His finger, that was pointing to Aone’s face, lowers to stop by his shirt, hands spreading and bunching up the fabric. “Then what?” He grips at it, more out of nervousness than anything. “Tell me, Aone.” 

“I love you.” Aone says. His voice echoes through the apartment, bouncing on the walls and hitting Futakuchi with full force, making his legs weak. 

He steps away. “Aone-” he breathes out, unsure he’ll ever be able to say anything else ever again, “Aone, I-”

“I love you so much.” Aone straightens his back, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s probably ridiculous to love someone this much.” 

“Nothing you do is ridiculous,” Futakuchi opens his hands, letting them slip over Aone’s chest. 

Aone smiles fully. His hand reaches Futakuchi’s face, caressing his cheek. “I should’ve told you sooner.” 

Futakuchi nuzzles Aone’s hand with his cheek. “I love you too,” his eyes are watery. Aone clears a stray tear away with his thumb. “Fuck, Aone, I love you.”

Aone pulls him close, their lips meeting. It’s wet and a little bit snotty, but Futakuchi feels like the world is falling in place, like the gears of time are finally moving together for him. 

He snakes a leg up towards Aone’s thighs and he takes the hint, picking Futakuchi up. He kisses the column of Futakuchi’s neck, partying ways for him to breathe. 

“I love you,” he mumbles in between kisses. 

Aone is not a man of many words, but Futakuchi loves the way his voice breaks, loves the way the words sound in his breathless tone, and the way Aone’s mouth feels on his. 

“I love you too,” he manages out, lost in the moment. His bag is on the floor and he’s being thrown over the couch. He probably won’t make it to work on time, if at all. 

He couldn’t care less. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was honestly just a brain fart lol. I love these two.


End file.
